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by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [117]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine feral cave!Jamie sneaking out of the cave and into the house to give a good sniff to Claire's clothes.





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**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/184505784294/imagine-feral-cavejamie-sneaking-out-of-the-cave) on tumblr

He’d waited until the snow was ankle-deep before venturing to the mouth of the cave, shoulders hunched against the screaming wind, snow blowing sideways into his eyes.

Fortunately he knew the way so well that the temporary blindness didn’t matter. He rapped four quick knocks on the back door of the house, face turned downward in the shelter of his arm. So he saw Ian’s peg leg first, and then felt his warm hands on his shoulders, hoisting him inside.

“Jenny was worrit ye wouldna come.” Ian locked the door as Fergus materialized in the doorway, holding a steaming mug of broth. Gratefully Jamie took it, nodding his thanks, tension reducing just a bit in his shoulders.

“No’ even the greenest redcoat would dare patrol in this weather.” He sipped the broth carefully. “It’s been years since the snow was this bad.”

“Aye.” Ian squeezed Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s good to have ye here wi’ us. We can make ye a bath if ye like.”

“No need. Thank you.” Jamie sighed. “Truth be told, I’d just like to sleep in a real bed. I can see the bairns in the morning.”

“Whatever ye like. Jenny’s wi’ Michael and Janet. They’re a right handful these days.” Ian smiled, then slowly walked across the room and toward the back stairs.

Jamie knew the way, of course – but he let Ian go first. Walking slowly. Savoring the small details of the house.

The tapestry on the wall; he remembered hiding behind it as a bairn, giggling, as Da “tried” to find him.

The carved knob on the banister; he remembered Mam hanging pine boughs from it for Hogmanay.

The painting of the garden in springtime, something his Mam had done when he was a baby; Claire –

“Here ye are.” Ian pushed open the door to the bedroom he had shared with Jenny during that dreamy, peaceful, restorative year when Jamie and Claire had lived at Lallybroch – after France, and before the Rising.

Gratefully Jamie sank to the bed.

“I can ask Young Jamie to lay the fire –”

“I’ll be all right. The flint is still in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, no?”

Ian smiled thinly. “Aye, it is.” He leaned a bit against the doorway. “It’s good to see ye in the house. Ye can come here more often. It’s nae bother.”

Jamie didn’t want to argue. “I’m glad to be here. And verra much looking forward to Missus Crook’s breakfast.”

“It’ll be bannocks wi’ the last of the apple butter. But better than nothing.”

Jamie nodded. “Thank you, Ian.”

Ian huffed. “There’s nothing to thank me for. This is still your home, Jamie Fraser. Aye?”

“Aye.”

And with that, Ian closed the door – leaving Jamie alone, with just the single candle on the bedside table for company.

He heaved a tremendous sigh, then stood, crossed the room, and knelt before the chest of drawers that his Mam had brought all the way from Leoch, as part of Da’s settlement with Colum and Dougal.

The flint was there in the bottom drawer.

Comforting that some things didn’t change.

He stood – suddenly curious. Opened the top drawer.

Dropped the flint.

Claire’s gorgeous yellow silk dress. From Paris.

Heart racing, he opened the second drawer.

Claire’s beautiful purple dress and shawl. Embroidered with pink flowers. Also from Paris.

Hands shaking, he opened the third drawer.

Also Claire’s – but not from Paris. Just a simple brown homespun dress. With two gray knit gauntlets.

Every garment was neatly folded. Protected with the formal linen napkins.

His heart soared with love for Jenny’s thoughtfulness.

And because his heart was starved, he caressed the brown dress. Remembering how he had joked it made Claire seem as if she had sprung from the Earth itself. Laughing together in the field, as he set down her wee basket to give her a proper kiss.

Either the wool was rougher than he remembered, or the callouses on his hands had thickened.

His eyes fluttered shut.

Claire’s creamy white skin, such a contrast to the brown of her dress.

The taste of her lips. Her neck. The inside of her thigh.

How the bottom of one tooth would show when she smiled.

The highlights in her hair, when the sun shone on it.

Slowly, reverently, he raised the dress to his lips.

Inhaled.

Almost collapsed.

For it smelled of _her_.

The scent he had woken up to and fallen asleep to, for the only three years of his life when he had truly been alive.

The scent he had memorized that last night, in the ruined cottage at the foot of Craigh Na Dun.

The scent he dreamed sometimes – waking to the stale, cold, dead air of the cave.

He breathed deep.

Ten thousand images racing through his mind.

How a small furrow would form between Claire’s brows as she concentrated.

The brace she had made for his hand, in Paris. The care with which she would rub his fingers and joints, as they lay in bed at Jared’s opulent house.

How she had trembled so, that first time he had held her at Leoch.

Her smile.

The graceful half-moons of her fingernails.

The sounds that formed in her throat, when she fell apart around him.

He collapsed on the bed. Face buried in the dress.

Pretending he was holding her. That she was warming his cold, empty heart.

Sometime later, with the bairns finally all abed, Jenny quietly pushed the door open to greet her brother.

Jamie slept, shivering – for no fire had been lit in the room – curled up on top of the quilt. Claire’s brown dress cradled in his arms.

Silently she stepped away and shut the door.

She would pray her novena to St. Anthony tonight.


End file.
